Switched Bah Bahn
by Kristanci
Summary: Youngblades. This is the result of a fic challenge stating that two or more characters must be switched in some way such as body or mind. To say more would ruin the story, so please enjoy. UPDATE: This story is now complete.
1. Nowhere to Run

In response to a fic challenge issued a while back. The idea came to me suddenly, and I didn't want to pass it up and have the story fly away.

Chapter 1- Nowhere to Run

Jacques felt trapped. She didn't know whether she should be on the offense and fend off the "predator" before her, or whether she should just go with the situation. There was no way she could draw her sword on him; it was an impossibility, for she had no desire to truly harm. She always found herself in such strange situations since she was a woman dressed in the garb of a musketeer. But leave it up to the childish offspring of one of France's greatest legends to put her in such an odd position.

She kept her expression calm, but it felt like her nerves were biting her skin. Her heart beat rapidly, making the tight binding around her chest uncomfortable. She met his eyes, and kept them locked in his gaze, hoping to stare him down. Her brow rose in curiosity when she realized there was a tiny scar just above his right eyebrow.

Since she came to the musketeer garrison, she had bonded strongly with an odd trio. A mischievous child personified in a man's body, a curious and insatiable inventor, and a passionate poet gifted with the art of language. In a short amount of time, they had shared much together.

Till the day she died, Jacques would always remember the bouts they had with Mazarin's henchmen, the days they spent cleaning the dungeons as punishment for disobeying Duval's orders, the appreciative smiles they received from the citizens of France when the musketeers came to their rescue. But none of those memories or lessons could have prepared her for this. This was just… awkward.

Though they have gone through much over the last several months, she never had much time to observe her new friends in a physical manner. D'Artagnan, of course, made it a point to invade her personal space whenever he could, but she was so busy prying him off of her that she could never see more than a man with dark hair and brown eyes that always danced with amusement whenever she was irritated. Siroc was the only musketeer in the whole garrison that didn't wear his uniform a whole day through. The sandy haired musketeer was always locked away in his lab if he didn't have high prioritized duties. And Ramon was the only one out of the four of them that had facial hair. Other than the obvious features, Jacques never took the time to take in the smaller traits that each man had. She reminded herself that it wouldn't be very manly if she was caught staring at her comrades for a long period of time. It might give off the wrong impression.

His face came closer to hers, and she tilted her head back instinctively. Now her eyes traveled to his cheeks. He smiled then. She didn't realize that he had dimples when he smiled. It was such a different smile than what she was used to seeing on his handsome face. It was warm and friendly, oddly very sweet and sincere. A wave of shivers spread throughout her body, and she tried to move out of the way, but she was at a dead end. She could not back up anymore; a cold wall pressed against her backside. He crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned forward, keeping his mouth just barely an inch away from hers.

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, waiting for what was to come. "D'Artagnan," she whispered before she felt Siroc's lips pressed softly against hers.


	2. The Vanity Tile

One Day Earlier

D'Artagnan was bored. It was his day off, and Jacques was nowhere to be found, so he couldn't annoy her to his heart's content. She probably thought he was spending his day with a luscious beauty, but truth be told, he hadn't seen anyone since he met her. He didn't_ want_ to see anyone else. Since he obviously couldn't be as intimate with her as he would like, he would spend much of his time pestering her. It was the only way to be closer to her.

However, Jacques was not in the garrison, so that meant he had to find other means of entertainment. He quickly strolled by Captain Duval's office, hoping the captain wouldn't find him and issue an assignment, forgetting that it was his day off. D'Artagnan continued on and before he knew it, he was facing Siroc's laboratory door. With a satisfied grin, he pushed open the door, not bothering to knock.

Siroc had his back turned to him. The inventor was hunched over the main work table, carefully inspecting something small. There was a large framed mirror that was wheeled to the center of the lab. It stood tall, towering over Siroc's hunched form. 'That's new,' d'Artagnan thought.

Siroc had his sleeves rolled up, and was wearing the traditional brown apron that made him look like a common cook. D'Artagnan had teased him about it many times when Siroc first joined to the musketeers, but since he learned that it was a present from Siroc's perished father, he had immediately stopped. D'Artagnan never asked Siroc about his past, so the scientist's origins were a large mystery. But that didn't matter. It kept Siroc interesting, and right now he needed something to keep his mind occupied.

"What are you doing, Siroc?" d'Artagnan asked, skipping the courteous greeting routine. When Siroc was pouring over some type of new invention, he usually didn't grace anyone with an answer. D'Artagnan walked over to the opposite side of the table and leaned against the edge, watching Siroc pour a spoonful of what looked like water into a small vial. He noticed two small white tiles that had been strewn across the table. They had strange markings painted on them. "What are these?" he asked, grabbing one that had a blue square painted on the top.

Siroc raised his head finally, and snatched the tile away from his grasp. "Are you here to bother me or are you actually interested?" Siroc asked. He inspected the tile, making sure that it was still intact.

D'Artagnan considered the question then shrugged. "A little of both, to be honest. So what's the new experiment of the day?"

Siroc stared at him for a moment longer. It seemed like he was giving d'Artagnan a chance to leave or interrupt him before he opened his mouth to explain. When d'Artagnan held his tongue, Siroc let out a long breath.

"This," he said, holding up the blue square tile, "is called Bah Bahn, or the vanity tile. Hence the image of a mirror painted on it. As you know the Oriental Festival came through last week."

D'Artagnan smiled fondly at the memory. "Ah, yes. Raven haired gems of the Orient…" he sighed. When he realized that Siroc was waiting for him to focus once more, he cleared his throat. "Sorry… you know how my mind works. Please, continue."

Siroc shook his head in disappointment, but he did go on with his story. "Well, one gypsy in particular took an interest in me. Not my body, mind you," Siroc said quickly before d'Artagnan could counter with a crude remark. "She gave me a few of these tiles saying they held a unique power, and if I followed the instructions on these pieces of paper, I would be more open minded to the wonders of the world."

D'Artagnan looked down at the tiny vials and bowls that Siroc had set up. He noticed another "Bon Bon" tile was cracked in half, and the bottom section was ground into powder. "So what do these directions ask of you?" Now, he was very interested.

Siroc seemed to relax more, delighted that his comrade has taken a sincere interest in his work. "This one in particular requires a large mirror, ingestion of the tile, and two bodies," he said, grinding the other half of the Bah Bahn tile into small pebbles. "Apparently, if the "procedure" succeeds, the bodies will have been taken over by the other's mind, effectively causing a switch in body and mind. _If_ it succeeds," he said skeptically.

"You don't believe it will?" d'Artagnan asked. He realized how stupid the question was when he asked it out loud. Siroc was a man of fact not fiction. He believed in what he could see, touch, smell, hear, taste, and feel … physically that is. Siroc rarely took an interest in the "magic arts" that some truly believed in, but an opportunity like this must have piqued his curiosity. "So, shall we have a go then?" d'Artagnan asked, standing next to the mirror.

Siroc grinned like a little boy. "Potentially sacrificing you body in the name of scientific experimentation, are you?"

"I'd like to think of it as helping a friend out," d'Artagnan said with a smirk. "If this truly does work, then you'll be in my body." Siroc confirmed the statement with a nod. "Well, then consider it a present that I am offering you God's gift to women for only the price of satisfying my curiosity."

Siroc let out a sincere laugh. "Well then, I can't pass up that opportunity, now can I?" He ground the rest of the tile, and poured the remains into two bowls of water. He handed one to d'Artagnan and kept one for himself. "Now, the instructions say that we must be on either side of the mirror, and we must congest the contents of the bowls simultaneously while staying focused on our reflections."

D'Artagnan practically skipped to one side of the mirror like an eager child. "No magical words? No sacrificial animal needed?"

"No at all. This is probably the safest experiment I've tried in a while," he said and made his way to the opposite side. "Ready?"

D'Artagnan held the bowl to his lips, staring at his reflection. What a silly game they were playing, but it was making the time pass and that was exactly what he wanted. "Ready when you are."

"On the count of three," Siroc said from the other side. "One… two… three!" And they both gulped down the powdered water.

D'Artagnan drank the whole bowl. The taste was disgusting; it burned his tongue and left a hot trail all the way down to his stomach. "Tastes better than coffee, to be honest," he joked. He looked back to the mirror not at all surprised to see his reflection still there. "An interesting story, Siroc, and I hate to say it, but you failed." He expected to hear some type of retort from his friend, but Siroc didn't answer.

After several moments, he heard something fall against the mirror, causing the whole structure to shake momentarily. "Siroc?" he called out. He took one cautionary step, but then was blinded by a white light. A sharp shooting pain shot through his head, and he fell forward. He could feel his body sliding down the front of the mirror. His legs could not hold his body up, so he collapsed to the floor.

Seconds later, the pain was instantly gone. D'Artagnan pushed himself up on his knees and shook his head. The pain was gone, but a dizzy spell lingered. "You weren't supposed to poison me, Siroc," he said, but then stopped. That wasn't his voice. He snapped his head up and looked into the mirror again. Staring back at him was Siroc's reflection.


	3. The Other Man

The Other Man

The moment Jacques stepped into her quiet peaceful room, she heard two surprised screams coming from down the hallway. She dropped the presents she bought from the marketplace and ran out of her room. Her hand immediately flew to the hilt of her rapier when she neared Siroc's lab.

"What the hell?!" she heard Siroc's scream. She heard him arguing with someone else, but the voices were now lowered and muffled.

She heard two or more bodies shuffling around the lab, knocking glass and God knows what else to the ground. She knew enough about the inventor's sanctuary that it held enough ingredients to cause more than bodily harm if not handled property. "Siroc! What's wrong?" she asked, running into the room. She had to jump over a pile of small crystal like shards when she entered the lab. Pitchers, bowls, and small thin tubes or what was left of them were scattered all over the floor. But whatever struggle had occurred earlier now passed.

Siroc and d'Artagnan were both pacing around, distraught and clearly upset at each other. D'Artagnan slowed to a stop when he saw her, and looked dumbfounded like he didn't know what to say. Siroc was still walking up and down the length of the lab, running his hands through his hair. "Not fair!" he said suddenly looking down at his hands then turning an icy glare on d'Artagnan.

"What now?" d'Artagnan asked, annoyed. He began rubbing the back of neck, clearing agitated.

Siroc… pouted? Jacques looked on in amazement. Siroc doesn't pout; she didn't even think the muscles in his face could pout. "Your hair is smoother," he said.

"Clearly, you are joking," d'Artagnan snapped back, ignoring Jacque's presence. "We are in a rather large spot of bother right now, and all you can think of is to childishly compare and contrast our bodies?"

Siroc stuck his nose up in the air, daring to challenge him. D'Artagnan held out his arms, displaying his abdomen for all to see, and glared at the inventor. "The least you can do for your body is not eat your weight in food…" d'Artagnan gritted through his teeth. "You've been going out with Ramon far too often." Siroc moved quickly toward the dark haired musketeer, but Jacques finally stepped in. "What is going on here!" she yelled, stepping in between the two before they had a physical confrontation.

"Ask him!" Siroc hissed, pointing to d'Artagnan.

"You willingly participated, knowing full well what the consequences were," d'Artagnan said. He seemed to calm down now that she had successfully become their buffer zone, but Siroc was fuming. She had never seen him lose his temper before; it was rather interesting.

"I didn't think it would actually work," he said.

Jacques felt a dull ache beginning to creep through her head. She needed answers. "What happened? Why are you two at each other's throats? And Siroc, why are you acting like a child? That is unlike you."

Siroc's expression turned grim. "Jacques, it's me," he said, bringing his hands up to his chest. "I'm d'Artagnan."

Jacques let out a loud laugh and turned to d'Artagnan. "And you're supposed to Siroc, am I right?" she asked. D'Artagnan didn't answer; all he did was nod. Her smile disappeared when she looked from d'Artagnan to Siroc then vice versa. "You're kidding…" she gasped. "You must be. This has to be some stupid joke."

Siroc suddenly wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she was pulled into a corner, farthest away from d'Artagnan. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "I know you're Jacqueline Roget, and might I add, you have a very nice belly button."

Jacques stepped back in horror, looking at him with wide eyes. "How…" she started. She looked to d'Artagnan suddenly with wide eyes. A deep rooted fear began to surface, and she had to keep her back to "d'Artagnan" to keep her shock hidden. She had to compose herself, and pray that all they did was switch bodies or minds. Siroc patted her on the shoulder, encouraging her with a secretive smile; it was very... d'Artagnan like. She finally turned to address the other man. "Do you… do you share memories?"

The dark haired musketeer was silent for a moment, lost in concentration. He shook his head, much to Jacques relief. "All my memories are my own. Nothing new or embarrassing, as I am sure d'Artagnan has many memories of that nature," he said with amusement. He knelt and began picking up the larger shards of glass and tossed them in a basket. "I never believed in witchcraft before," he said simply. "This certainly opens new windows for me. Question is, how long are the effects in place? I wasn't expecting success…" he said thoughtfully.

Siroc narrowed his eyes at d'Artagnan. "You mean you don't know? That gypsy witch didn't tell you how to reverse it?" D'Artagnan shrugged in response, igniting more anger in Siroc. "Perfect! This just a great way to spend my day," Siroc pushed past Jacques and d'Artagnan, making his way out of the lab. He crushed more glass under his heel, but he didn't pay it any attention.

"Where are you going?" Jacques asked.

"To think," was all he said. She could hear angry and heavy stomps echo through the hall.

"Maybe switching bodies has forced some good habits on him," Jacques said to d'Artagnan, trying to lighten the mood.

He didn't smile, but he didn't reprimand either. He wiped his tired eyes and began cleaning up the floor instead. Jacques observed his actions, seeing how he carefully picked up broken bowls and cups and discarded them in the waste basket. He started dusting the floor with a large hay broom when she laughed again. When he gave her a puzzled look, she explained, "It's a new look for… d'Artagnan, I suppose. Seeing his body being careful and precise… nothing like his swordplay at all." She rolled up the sleeves of her shirt and pointed to the overturned table. "Need a hand?"

"I appreciate it," d'Artagnan said, setting the broom aside. He grabbed the other end of the table and they both lifted it upright and set it down.

"You really are Siroc, aren't you?" she asked. She wasn't trying to tease or mock, but she now saw different mannerisms that told her instincts that the man she saw truly wasn't d'Artagnan.

"I would say in the flesh, but that hold a new meaning, doesn't it," he smiled grimly.

Jacques smiled. She realized the severity of the situation, but it really too funny not to laugh. In all the time she had known him, she had never seen "Siroc" so flustered and lost.

"If only you were here earlier," d'Artagnan said. "I'm sure he made his way back to my lab only because he couldn't find you…"

"Oh, that reminds me," Jacques said, snapping her fingers. "Wait here." She promptly left the lab without hearing his response. She wasn't sure if the present she bought him would brighten his day, but she thought it would at least take his mind off of the current problem. The small pouch she had dropped earlier from her return still lay on the floor of her room. She picked it up, hoping it wasn't broken.

When she returned to the lab, she tossed the small leather bag to d'Artagnan. He caught it with ease and dumped the contents onto his palm. She watched him closely; he was inspecting every inch of the small wooden angel. It was no bigger than his hand, and it wasn't a masterpiece. The figure itself was abstract, faceless and without detail, but it was clear that the tiny wings represented an image of a heavenly creature.

He didn't say anything for a while, and that unnerved Jacques. "If you don't like it Siroc, I can always keep it mys-"

"The significance?" he asked suddenly.

Jacques sighed, remembering the horrible weapon Siroc had created two months ago. She and the others almost lost their lives to that monstrous creation. To a degree, it still haunted her, but what scared her most was that she almost lost her family all over again. She straightened her posture and lowered the tone in her voice. "Well, I can't pray for you all the time," she said, remembering Siroc's request.

He now looked thoughtfully at the angel as though he was admiring it. "Why today?"

"Captain Duval had mentioned that this day four years ago was when you first joined the musketeers," she said. No one knew his birthday, and she was half certain that Siroc, himself, didn't know either when he was born. He was very private about his past life, and she recognized painful memories that lingered in eyes that wanted to forget. She wanted to create better memories for him.

She began walking the perimeter of the lab, taking in the countless books, drawings, notes, and the various containers that filled several bookshelves. "They say that you can tell much about a person by what they keep close to themselves. All this, and not one thing that says Siroc on it," she said, wondering if he understood her.

D'Artagnan blinked in surprise. "Jacques, if you haven't noticed by now, I am the musketeer inventor extraordinaire," he said spreading out his arms. "This is all me."

"True, but I've never seen anything, with the exception of your… work uniform, hold significance for you," she explained. The conversation was getting dangerously personal, and she knew that Siroc was just as secretive about his private life as she was. "In any case, I thought you would like it."

"Thank you," he said in a low whisper. He gave her a small smile, but then turned his back to her.

It was odd to see "d'Artagnan's" lips smile that way. It was genuine, but seemed to hide much pain. The smiles she was used to seeing were full of arrogance and pride. There were times she found herself watchin d'Artagnan, wondering if he would pay her any attention if she were able to live freely as a woman. Would she catch his gaze? She could only wonder, but she would never hope or pray for that reality. It was impossible. Seeing Siroc in d'Artagnan's body made her see a whole new side of d'Artagnan physically. The way he spoke, the way he moved… how much belonged to the inventor and how much belonged to the son of a legendary musketeer?

D'Artagnan set the little angel on a bookshelf and placed a finger on his lips. "I wonder…" he said. He swiftly turned and grabbed the full body mirror. "I have an idea. May or may not work, but it's worth a try," he said. When Jacques moved toward the mirror to help him, he held out his hand to stop her. "No, I don't want you near the next stage of experimentation. If something goes wrong, then there will be three of us looking for a solution."

Jacques backed off, keeping her hands off of the mirror. "No need to say more," she said with a nervous laugh.

"D'Artagnan's angry enough as it is," he said. "We don't need to add another body to the problem, especially if it's you." D'Artagnan shifted the weight of the mirror onto his shoulders, but accidentally knocked the corner into the canopy lever.

Jacques heard gears turning and ropes being pulled. She saw the thick blanket plummet down towards them at an alarming speed. Instinctively, she pushed d'Artagnan out of harm's way, jumping to the side herself. The canopy caught d'Artagnan on the shoulder, and forced him to drop to the mirror.

Jacques winced when she heard the large frame crack followed by a deafening roar of breaking glass. She and d'Artagnan looked at each other in shock, and both simultaneously stared down at the brown canopy that covered what had to be millions of small shards. "There really is nothing left to do by laugh," d'Artagnan said softly. "That wasn't good."

"I'm sorry, Siroc," Jacques said. She meant it. Lately, Siroc's ideas have just been unable to find any path of success. She didn't think he'd ever show his frustration in front of her, but she knew he had to be upset, perhaps even saddened.

"Well, the success of tomorrow can't be stopped by the mistakes of today," he said. "Let me find something to clean this up with." He carefully stepped over the canopy, and began dusting off his hands. "This is going to take some time…" He walked out of the lab, leaving her behind.

"What a day…" Jacques said. Siroc's lab was in shambles at the moment, Siroc and d'Artagnan had somehow switched bodies, and they had to fix the problem before tomorrow. How were they going to explain this to the captain if they were unable to find a solution? She could feel a strong migraine developing. Her life had been so peaceful until she had joined the musketeers, but she couldn't really complain. She treasured all the memories she had with her newfound friends; she just wished that so many problems wouldn't happen in one day.

She pulled on the canopy lever, and the thick leather was lifted off the ground. Crystal splinters fell off from the bottom, and she shook various parts of the canopy, making sure it was free from any glass. She felt a sharp shooting pain cut into her palm, and she quickly drew her hand back. When she inspected her hand, a thin red line appeared on her palm. It was small and deep enough to cause infection if she didn't treat it. She carefully used her other hand to finish the task of clearing the canopy. When she was satisfied that it was safe, she pulled the lever again, and the canopy was once again suspended in the ceiling.

She used a nearby napkin to temporarily wrap her hand, then she heard someone walking into the lab, and assumed it d'Artagnan. "This will take you a day at the very least to clean," she said, keeping her back to the doorway, focusing on tying a small knot using her left hand and her teeth.

"Are you all right?" asked Siroc's voice.

"Oh, Siroc.. I mean, d'Artagnan," Jacques said in surprise. She hoped they wouldn't stay switched much longer; she didn't think she'd ever get used to calling either man by the other's name. "Just a scrape," she said. He walked up to her and inspected her hand, frowning when he saw red spreading though the cloth. She gently pulled away from him; the touch was so different. Had he been in his own body, she might have lingered in his grasp a bit longer. "You seemed to have calmed down. I think you owe Siroc an apology. Are you willing to think like a mature man now?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

He cocked his head to the side. "I will if you do."

She felt her irritation flare. "You over reacted, like always." She sucked in her lower lip, and cursed herself silently. D'Artagnan had mentioned it was an attractive habit she had when she was mad.

"You-" he started.

"Are unbelievably beautiful when I'm irritated?" she finished for him, rolling her eyes. "Please, d'Artagnan, it's getting old. I would appreciate it if you didn't go around "complimenting" me all the time when I'm trying to keep my identity a secret. It's hard enough keeping up this guise when..." she trailed off when she saw his eyes. There was no indication that he meant to shower her with flirtatious commentary. He wasn't angry or upset; his expression was stoic. He took a step forward and caught part of her bangs between his thumb and forefinger. He took his time feeling the strands between his fingers before he tucked them behind her ear. "D'Artagnan," she whispered.

She would never admit it, but she had dreamt of this. She dreamt of him being so close to her. He locked eyes with her; it was like he was seeing her for the first time. He took another step toward her, and his eyes told her that he wasn't playing anymore games.


	4. New Understanding

Present

He had always wondered, and now he finally knew. The moment he felt their lips connect, he backed away. Jacqueline was flustered, and she blinked several times trying to shake her mind from the momentary daze she was in. He could see her cheeks flush red, and when she realized he was staring at her, she ducked her head down. He couldn't help but realize that her eyes had watered as though tears were forming. "Are you…" he asked quietly.

She shook her head and inhaled deeply. When she looked up at him again, the façade of Jacques Leponte was reinforced, stronger than ever. Swiftly, she wiped at her eyes, and soon there was no trace that she had let her guard down. "It's difficult," she said, stepping away from him, putting more distance between their bodies. "Sometimes, I wonder how long I can keep this up." She grabbed the lapel of her uniform. "And I wonder what the consequences will be if I'm caught." Her hand rested on the hilt of her rapier. "Though no matter what happens, I don't regret my decisions. I don't regret meeting any of you, and yes, that includes you." She let out a nervous laugh. "Maybe it's easier to talk to you because you don't look like yourself." She waited for him to respond, but he didn't know what she expected from him.

He was always patient when he was searching for answers, and he was grateful that he waited this long to find this particular one. Deep down in his heart, he knew that what she had said was probably the most precious words he had heard from anyone. Here was a woman sacrificing her life, giving up any possible future she had with a husband and children. Living her life to the fullest each day because tomorrow could be her last. And at the bottom of it all, she was grateful to have the musketeers, to have him, in her life. He now found solace and a deeper respect in his relationship with her. They both had their own demons, but it was comforting to know that she relied on them just as much as he relied on her to keep the demons at bay.

He heard a knock at the door. Ramon was standing at the doorway with a worried look on his face. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"D'Artagnan was thrown from his horse a few minutes ago. He's fine," he said quickly before they could bombard him with questions. "He's resting in his room. But it's strange…" the poet trailed off.

"What's strange? It's not like it's the first time," Jacques said.

Ramon shrugged and head back out of the lab. "Well, he suddenly yelled that he was d'Artagnan, and then he was thrown. I just wanted to let you two know… Aye, I tell you, you crazy French and your wine. I told him she shouldn't have gone drinking…" then the Spaniard was gone.

Jacques almost collapsed, but she caught herself at the last moment. "You-!" she whipped around and looked at him with fearful eyes. "When did-?"

Siroc held his hands up in defense. "When the mirror broke. I had a feeling that since it was the cause of the switch, then destroying it would reverse the effect. Though I would have much rather it happened outside."

Jacques took in a few breaths, unsure what to say. She looked like an abandoned child, afraid and lost. She kept her eyes downcast and wrapped her arms around her chest. Out of respect for her, he kept his silence. "Why did you kiss me?" she asked meekly.

"I didn't mean to cause you harm or fear. I had my suspicions long ago, and I only wanted to know if you truly were Jacqueline," he said gently. He knew that wouldn't be a sufficient answer, but it was the truth. The moment and the opportunity presented itself, and he risked finding his answer. He saw her shrink away from him, and he did something unlike himself. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her gently. "Don't worry," he said as he held her. "Both of your secrets are safe with me." He was glad to feel her relax against him. The shock of her secret being revealed was vanishing, and her trust in him was surfacing again.

She pulled back, but not enough to break the embrace. "Both?" she asked.

Siroc smiled and let her go. It would likely be the last time he ever held her in such a way, but it would certainly not be the last time he offered her support or encouragement. "That you're Roget, and that your heart truly lies with d'Artagnan."

She snorted at his answer which caused him to chuckle. Her lips turned up into a smile, and soon she was laughing with him. "Me? Love him?" she said and playfully punched him. "I think all that witchcraft got to your head." She began making her way out of the lab, probably intent on visiting her fallen musketeer. She stopped under the doorway and turned to smile at him. Her gaze was something he could only identify as endearing. It was warm and comforting; he wished one day she was free to smile like that more often. "You're a blessing. Thank you, Siroc," she said sincerely.

He nodded and bowed as a gentleman would. "My lady," he said. She smiled once more, and then she was gone. Siroc brought his attention back to his partly destroyed lab. It was going to be a long day. He looked to the doorway, hoping that he relieved some of the pressure Jacqueline had been feeling. He was only a small part of the puzzle, but he would try to do his part. She was family, after all. 'A long day, but hopefully a brighter future,' he thought then turned his attention to the debris in his lab.


End file.
